


with my blood

by boneslen



Category: The Irishman (2019), The Irishman - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, What-If, rip to the homie jimmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:01:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneslen/pseuds/boneslen
Summary: Frank pulled out his gun, holding it low by his right side, pointed at Jimmy, but still in a subtle manner.“Let’s get outta here. Come on.” Jimmy quickly turned around, and he was so anxious to leave the eerily empty house that he didn’t even notice the gun pointed at him. Or perhaps his trust in Frank was so strong that he didn’t ever look at Frank as a threat, whether he was holding a gun or not.This was it. Jimmy was seconds away from exiting the house that he was supposed to be murdered in, and Frank couldn’t allow him to leave. Alive, that is. He had to shoot Jimmy in the head right now.But Frank didn’t want to.
Relationships: Frank Sheeran/Jimmy Hoffa
Comments: 9
Kudos: 172





	with my blood

**Author's Note:**

> This movie and this relationship were way too good for me to not write something. Jimmy’s death scene just made me so sad and left me in shock for the rest of the film...heartbreaking.

Frank had never felt like such shit. Sure, he had experienced some truly awful times in his life, like his parents dying, or getting beat up in the seventh grade, or even when he thought he was going to get incarcerated for stealing that meat for Skinny Razor years ago. But none of those times compared to how he felt right now.

He knew he had to kill Jimmy. There was no alternative. No other possible outcome of this situation. Russell didn’t even need to tell Frank what the consequences would be if he didn’t kill Jimmy. Frank had a pretty good idea. 

So here Frank stood, feeling like pure shit, positioned right behind Jimmy Hoffa, the man who was nervously surveying the empty house. Frank pulled out his gun, holding it low by his right side, pointed at Jimmy, but still in a subtle manner. 

“Let’s get outta here. Come on.” Jimmy quickly turned around, and he was so anxious to leave the eerily empty house that he didn’t even notice the gun pointed at him. Or perhaps his trust in Frank was so strong that he didn’t ever look at Frank as a threat, whether he was holding a gun or not. 

This was it. Jimmy was seconds away from exiting the house that he was supposed to be murdered in, and Frank couldn’t allow him to leave. Alive, that is. He had to shoot Jimmy in the head right now.

But Frank didn’t want to.

That was all there was to it. Frank loved Jimmy. And he knew with one hundred percent certainty that Jimmy loved him too. Their relationship had always been platonic, but Frank would be damned if he denied that his feelings for Jimmy bordered on something else. Something stronger. 

So instead of painting the walls with Jimmy’s blood, Frank grabbed Jimmy from behind and threw him down on the floor, farther away from the door. Then, he pointed the gun directly at Jimmy once again. Frank didn’t really know why he did it. Why he postponed Jimmy’s death, instead of killing him right then and there. All Frank knew was that he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to let Jimmy go yet. 

“What the fuck?! Frank, what the–”

Jimmy abruptly shut up at the sight of Frank’s gun in his face. Jimmy’s face was an open book, and Frank could see all the emotions rifling through it: shock, confusion, anger, then finally sadness and fear. 

Frank didn’t know what to do now. He had never hesitated to kill someone before. Ever. And that was what made Frank so damn good at his job. He murdered people without a second thought, like a loyal dog to his owners. But this time it was different. Because this time, it was Jimmy. 

“What are you doin’, Frank?” The words were innocent, as if Jimmy was trying to pretend he had no idea why anyone would want to kill him right now.

For a moment, Frank reflected on what fatal acts would happen to him or his family if he didn’t carry out this hit. Those dreadful thoughts made Frank aim his gun even closer to Jimmy, who was still sprawled out on the floor, propped up on his elbows.

In response, Jimmy winced with such a candid amount of fear that it shocked Frank. Of course, anyone would be scared of someone who was about to shoot them, but it still perplexed Frank. In all his time of knowing Jimmy, he had never seen the other man express any negative emotions towards him, especially fear. Jimmy’s trust and love for Frank were of great amounts, perhaps too great, for that unrelenting trust was why Jimmy was in this current situation.

Therefore, in shock of Jimmy’s reaction, the only thing that Frank dumbly said was, “You’re scared of me?”

“Fuck you, is this a test? The fuck are you doin’?” Jimmy tried to stand, but then Frank made it clear what was happening by hitting him hard across the face with his gun.

Jimmy fell unceremoniously back down, trying to hold his bleeding nose with shaking hands as he sat on the ground. 

“Stay down! Don’t you fuckin’ move!” The amount of vigor in Frank’s voice surprised even Frank himself. 

“Okay, okay…”

There had been plenty of time for Frank to have done his job, leave, and be on his way back to Russell by now. And ultimately, Frank knew there was no way that Jimmy would be leaving that house alive. Honestly, it would be best to just get this over with before Frank could feel any more inner turmoil over his actions.

Once again, Frank pointed his gun at Jimmy’s head, but now he was determined to shoot to kill. There was no reason to drag this out any longer. He had stalled long enough, even though almost every part of his being was telling him not to do this.

“No! Wait!” Jimmy shouted out with raw desperation. He held his bloody hands up in a sign of surrender. His eyes were wide, and Frank could see a glimmer of hope within. “Frank, let’s talk. You’re my friend, and I love you. Just talk to me!”

“Don’t make this harder, Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry! But what are you doin’? Who sent you?”

“You don’t need to know, so shut the fuck up.” Frank had never spoken to Jimmy like this, and honestly, he hated it. It felt so wrong to be treating Jimmy like any other victim of the mob when he was anything but. 

“I’m your friend, Frank! I’m different from the others–the others you’ve killed, right? And you...uh, the mob doesn’t need to kill me over what I’ve done! C’mon, Frank, who did I hurt this badly? Huh? Did I hurt you?”

‘You could never,’ was what Frank wanted to say. Actually, if Frank could have his way, he would throw away that gun and leave town with Jimmy for good. But this was reality, and things like that weren’t allowed. Frank knew that the moment he started working for Russell Bufalino.

“You fuckin’ brought this on yourself. You shoulda listened to me, you shoulda listened to fuckin’ anyone! If you just listened...” Frank trailed off. He wanted to tell Jimmy that this mess could’ve been avoided if Jimmy actually heard what Frank had to say. But honestly, the mob still might’ve ordered this hit regardless of what Jimmy decided to do. Jimmy was a pain in the ass for a lot of people, and it would be hard to convince them that he had changed. So this, right here, was the most convenient option for those people.

Now, Frank was angry. But he didn’t know who he was truly angry at. Nonetheless, he continued talking. “Jimmy, you think you can do everything and anything, but the truth is, you can’t. There are consequences. And now, you get what you deserve.”

At that moment, Jimmy took advantage of how Frank was distracted, as he lunged forward and shoved Frank’s arm up. The brash movement caused Frank’s finger to pull the trigger, and the bullet hit the ceiling in response. Jimmy continued to act quickly and managed to wrench the pistol from Frank’s hand, then using it to hit Frank hard against the head like he had done to Jimmy minutes ago. 

Jimmy stood and went to flee the house, but not before Frank recovered himself and grabbed the other man with a great amount of force. With more harshness than Frank intended, he pinned Jimmy to the floor beneath him, twisting both of his arms behind his back with his face practically shoved into the ground. Jimmy grunted in pain in response to Frank’s rough actions.

The situation reminded Frank of when he had to stop Jimmy from going after Tony Pro a little while ago, because he did so by putting his weight on top of Jimmy like he was doing now. It always worked, since Jimmy was smaller than Frank. That was also why Frank was such a good bodyguard for Jimmy. But now, the situation was completely different. Because now, it was Frank trying to end Jimmy’s life, instead of protecting it.

That awkward position allowed Frank to take back his gun from Jimmy’s hands, and he immediately pressed the muzzle right against the back of Jimmy’s head. There was no possible way that Jimmy could try and get out of this one.

“Don’t kill me, fuck– _fuck_ , please don’t kill me.” Jimmy spluttered out a muffled plea from under Frank. 

In a softer voice, Frank responded. “I don’t want to, really, I don’t. But I have to.”

Jimmy struggled some more by trying to push Frank off him, but it was all pointless. Finally, he stopped moving so vehemently. “How could–how could you do this to me? You’re my best friend, Frank. I love you so much. How could you do this?”

“Whether–whether it’s me or someone else, you’re going, and if I said no…” Frank didn’t continue. But it was obvious what he meant. “Well, either way...you’re going. That’s what Russ said too, and…and it’s true.”

“Russ…? He ordered this hit?” Jimmy’s mind seemed to be reeling from underneath Frank. He was being betrayed by the two people he respected most in the world. 

“I’ve said enough. It’s time–”

“–Frank, please...” Jimmy interrupted softly. “I just...I don’t wanna die.” 

And then, for some odd reason, Frank felt his eyes getting wet. He blinked them away as he simultaneously shoved the gun harder against Jimmy’s skull. Jimmy flinched at the sensation, and closed his eyes shut.

“I am...I am sorry. Frank? Is it too late? I can change, c’mon, I’ll do anything.”

“It’s too late.”

Jimmy didn’t respond to that.

“I’m–I’m sorry, too. For this. I...hate that I’m doin’ this...t–to you.” Frank could barely stutter out a teary apology. It hurt too much. His grip on Jimmy slackened slightly, but he knew Jimmy still wouldn’t try to escape anymore. It was futile, and they both knew it.

In a small, weak voice, Jimmy asked, “Do you remember the first time we talked?”

“In Chicago?”

“No, on the phone.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Of course Frank remembered. His heart warmed at the memory. It was the start of something wonderful.

Jimmy went on. “I told you, ‘I heard you paint houses.’ But...I never thought you’d be painting them with me...”

There was a brief pause, then Jimmy continued. “...with my blood.”

Pain struck Frank deep within his chest, and he knew that he had prolonged this murder for far too long, because every last moment with Jimmy hurt far too much. 

So then, Frank did what Jimmy never thought he’d do, and he pulled the trigger, splattering Jimmy’s blood across the floor and walls. 

And with that, Jimmy Hoffa was dead. 

It took Frank a few moments to catch his breath and try not to stare at the hole in his friend’s head. When he was finally ready, he pried himself off of Jimmy’s dead body and stood. So that was it. It was over. 

Frank just felt numb.

His next few movements were practically robotic. He placed the gun gingerly on top of Jimmy’s body, then walked to the door in a calm manner. Then, he opened the door, and prepared to step out. 

But Frank’s legs froze for a moment. His mind was full of raging emotions, and his heart was aching with a deep pain that Frank had never felt so intensely in his life. The red blood on the floor and walls seemed to taunt Frank, and he knew he might throw up if he looked at the stains any longer. So instead, he directed his focus one last time to the lifeless body in the middle of the room. 

The energetic, wild, and hot-tempered liveliness that formerly inhabited that body was gone. Frank had killed so many people before Jimmy Hoffa, but the finality of mortality had never hit him like it did with Jimmy’s death.

As Frank tore his gaze away and left the house, he bitterly regretted one more thing. 

That he had never told Jimmy he loved him too.


End file.
